The night deepened, the fires burned low. Kael stayed awake, ears straining for any movement beyond the thin ring of sentries. Every creak of leather, every shift of metal made his heart lurch — half-expecting another wave of Dreadborn to crash through the darkness.
Instead, he heard voices drifting from the larger tent at the center of camp. Elric's hard, measured tone was unmistakable.
"We can't rely on a single anomaly. One boy's resilience isn't enough. The High Command wants redundancy — a stable process that ensures we can field more like him."
Mareen's voice followed, smooth and clipped. "Preliminary trials on controlled infection show promise, but mortality is extreme. Out of twenty volunteers, none survived past the second stage."
"Then stop using volunteers," another cold voice cut in. Kael didn't recognize it — likely one of the new high officers that had arrived with the last supply convoy. "Take who you need. This war isn't won by consent."
Silence. Then Mareen again, softer, almost curious. "Everhart may be the key. His physiology adapts more cleanly than any specimen we've documented. If we can isolate why…"
Kael's gut twisted. He rose, trying to block out their words, scraping mud from his boots just for the distraction. The metal edge of his bracer bit into his palm. Anything to stay anchored. Anything to keep from listening.
---
Morning broke pale and grim. Orders were given with curt efficiency: the squad would return to the forward fortress, where new testing regimens awaited. Kael noticed the way soldiers looked at him now — not like a comrade, but like something uncertain and dangerous.
Ayla avoided his eyes. Garrick tried to act normal, joking about ration bread so hard it almost sounded desperate. Nell stuck close to Lyren, who barely spoke at all.
Captain Daric rode ahead with Commander Elric, barking out deployment formations. Further back, Kael caught Eryz studying him with that same icy dissection, as if weighing exactly how much threat — or how much use — Kael still held.
---
By dusk they were inside the fortress walls. Dominion flags hung limp in the still air, and the smell of antiseptics mixed with blood from the infirmary. Mareen met them on the parade ground, a clipboard tucked under one arm.
"Everhart," she called, not bothering with rank. "You'll report to the medical wing. The rest of you stand down and await quartering."
Kael hesitated. Daric growled, "Go on, lad. Better her labs than her hounds sniffing you out for insubordination."
He didn't reply, only tightened his straps and followed Mareen across the yard. He felt the eyes of his squad burning holes into his back the whole way.
---
Inside, the corridors were hushed. Dominion medics moved briskly, carrying trays of syringes and vials of dark, swirling fluid that looked disturbingly familiar. As they passed an open door, Kael glimpsed a soldier strapped to a table, his body arching, veins blackening. The man's screams ripped through the hall before an attendant slammed the door shut again.
Mareen didn't slow her stride. "Early trials. Inelegant. But informative."
Kael's jaw tightened. "That was a person."
"That is data," Mareen corrected softly. "If he lives, perhaps he can stand where you do. If not, we've learned something for the next."
---
She led him into a smaller chamber, lit by pale lanterns and reeking of alcohol. Instruments lay neatly arranged on a steel tray. Kael stood in the center, refusing the chair.
Mareen raised a brow but didn't push it. "We'll draw samples. Test how far the Blight has integrated without overtaking your higher functions."
"And if it does?" Kael asked. His voice was flat, hollow.
She gave the faintest shrug. "Then we'll euthanize you. But painlessly."
---
He almost laughed — almost. Instead he stared at the far wall while needles sank into his arm, black-tinged blood filling the glass tubes. Mareen murmured to her aides, jotting down quick notes, eyes glinting whenever the samples clotted or pulsed strangely.
Through it all, Kael stood rigid. Inside, something else pulsed too — dark and eager, whispering that it wouldn't mind bursting free right here, right now, to reduce this sterile room to torn flesh and shrieking ruin.
But he held it down. For now.
---
When they finished, Mareen nodded absently, already lost in her calculations. "Return to your barracks. Captain Daric will be debriefed on your combat performance. Rest — you'll be deployed again shortly."
Kael didn't answer. He walked out into the fortress corridors, the cool stone biting against his skin. Somewhere beyond these walls, more Dreadborn lurked. Somewhere even closer, men and women he might have once called allies planned how to replicate the curse inside him — at any cost.
---
And somewhere deeper still, the monster in his blood stirred, hungry and patient, waiting for the next chance to show exactly how thin the line was between Dominion weapon and Dominion horror.
Kael stepped out into the fortress courtyard, the air still thick with disinfectant and torch smoke. Somewhere overhead, the sky cracked with distant thunder, though no rain fell. He adjusted his straps, trying to ignore the phantom itch where Mareen's needles had pierced his veins.
A shout snapped him around. Garrick was waving from the barracks steps, Toma lounging nearby, flipping a knife idly in one hand. Lyren stood stiff at the corner, Nell at his side, both tense as bowstrings.
"Oi, dead man walking!" Garrick barked, trying for humor, but his grin didn't reach his eyes. "What'd they poke you with this time? Dominion poison? Or something to make your claws prettier?"
Kael forced a ghost of a smile. "Just the usual. Making sure I'm still half-human."
Toma let out a low whistle. "Half might be generous."
Nell flinched. Even Toma seemed to regret it. Silence fell until Ayla emerged from inside, eyes flicking over Kael, her mouth a thin line. She didn't say anything — just turned and headed off toward the supply tents. Kael felt a cold emptiness pool in his gut.
---
They were sent out at dawn. A new scouting report had come in overnight — entire patrols gone missing along the eastern ridges, where the forest bled into shattered farmland. Elric ordered them to investigate, with Captain Eryz personally taking point.
"Stay sharp," Eryz growled as they entered the treeline. His hand hovered near the hilt of his blades, eyes darting through the undergrowth. "If these Seethe are adapting, we'll know soon enough. Try not to let your fear show them where to bite."
They pressed deeper. Kael's senses crawled with restless energy, the Blight inside him prickling like hot coals. Around them, the forest was oddly quiet — no birdsong, no rustle of small animals fleeing. Only the distant creak of old trees under invisible strain.
---
Then they found the first corpse.
It was a Dominion scout, armor half-shredded, his throat torn open by jagged bites. But what truly froze them was his torso — it had been split open, not eaten, but gutted, organs carefully pulled aside, as if something had searched for… something.
Further on, they found more bodies. Same signs. Lyren nearly gagged. "What are they doing?"
Kael knelt by one of the corpses. His hand hovered above the cavity, feeling a wrongness in the air — like the blood itself was still whispering. His own veins pulsed in eerie response. The Blight inside him seemed almost… curious.
---
They didn't have to wonder long.
From the trees ahead, a sound rose — wet and chittering, punctuated by breathy clicks. Then shapes moved, stepping into view. Dreadborn, but unlike any they had fought. These stood more upright, with thicker armored plates down their spines. Their claws dripped black ichor, and their heads were misshapen, skulls split with weeping red slits that pulsed like gills.
One lifted its face — and spoke.
Not real words. Just a garbled echo of human sobbing, layered with gurgling rasps. It sounded almost like someone crying for help, warped and broken. Toma staggered back, nearly dropping his spear.
Garrick swore under his breath. "They're mocking us…"
"No," Kael whispered, feeling the monster in his blood lean forward. "They're learning."
---
Eryz didn't wait. His blades flashed, a silver blur slicing through the nearest creature's neck. It fell — but three more lunged forward, moving in coordinated lines, flanking with unnatural speed.
The squad broke into desperate combat. Kael lashed out with his partial transformations, claws splitting bone and armor. Garrick fought shoulder to shoulder with Toma, covering each other's backs. Lyren dragged Nell away from a snapping maw, shouting something Kael couldn't hear over the roar in his own head.
More of the things kept coming, pouring from the forest. Their bodies flexed in odd ripples — some split open along the belly, birthing smaller, shrieking spawn that scuttled like spiders for fresh throats.
---
Kael felt the Blight surge, begging to be let loose, promising slaughter and triumph. For a heartbeat he nearly gave in — then he saw Ayla, standing over Nell with her sword raised, screaming as two of the spawn clambered up her legs, clawing for her throat.
He didn't think. He just moved.
The world blurred, his limbs stretching, teeth elongating into cruel hooks. He crashed into the spawn, tearing them apart in sprays of hot gore. Ayla fell back, covered in blood but alive.
Kael stood over her, chest heaving, claws dripping. The remaining evolved Dreadborn froze — then hissed in some foul chorus, retreating back into the woods, leaving a stench of bile and rotting meat.
---
When it was over, the clearing was littered with twitching bodies and steaming entrails. Eryz cleaned his blades with a precise swipe, eyes never leaving Kael.
"You controlled it," the captain said at last. His tone gave nothing away. Not praise, not condemnation. Just cold observation.
Kael didn't answer. His jaws were still half-split, fangs slowly retracting. Inside, the Blight shivered with glee, tasting victory, whispering that next time he wouldn't stop. That next time, he might even want to keep going.